Another cloud cast new shadows; and while these continued, I saw no more of the skulking figure.
As the moon again shone forth, I perceived that it was gone from behind the tuft of grass.
I scanned the ground in the immediate neighbourhood. It was not to be seen; but on looking farther out, I could just distinguish the figure of a man, bent forward and rapidly gliding away.
I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared in the distance, as though melting into the moonlight.
While gazing over the distant plain in the direction whence the figure had retreated, I was startled at beholding, not one, but many forms dimly outlined upon the prairie edge.
“It was Rube,” thought I; “and yonder are the rangers!”
I strained my eyes to the utmost. They were horsemen beyond a doubt; but, to my astonishment, instead of being close together, one followed another in single file, until a long line was traced against the sky like the links of a gigantic chain.
Except in the narrow defile, or the forest-path, my rangers never rode in that fashion. It could not be they!
At this crisis a new thought came into my mind. More than once in my life had I witnessed a spectacle similar to that now under my eyes—more than once had I looked upon it with dread. That serried line was an old acquaintance: it was a band of Indian warriors on their midnight march—upon the war-trail!
The actions of the spy were explained: he was an Indian runner. The party to whom he belonged was about to approach the mesa—perhaps with the design of encamping there—he had been sent forward to reconnoitre the ground.